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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26724700">Irregular and Wild (The Class Participation Remix)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeadeuce/pseuds/likeadeuce'>likeadeuce</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dead Welsh Kings, First Meetings, Gen, Meet-Cute, Pre-Canon, Remix, Shakespeare nerdery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:47:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,454</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26724700</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeadeuce/pseuds/likeadeuce</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I participated in class twice this week because of you," said Ronan. "You’re gonna ruin my reputation.”</p><p>Gansey just smiled. “That’s what I do."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Remix Revival 2020 Madness</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Irregular and Wild (The Class Participation Remix)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Ganesh/gifts">Lady_Ganesh</a>.</li>


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/9619673">Not in the Roll of Common Men</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Ganesh/pseuds/Lady_Ganesh">Lady_Ganesh</a>.
        </li>

        <li>In response to a prompt by
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Ganesh/pseuds/Lady_Ganesh">Lady_Ganesh</a>  in the  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/remixmadness2020">remixmadness2020</a>
          collection.
        </li>
    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks to DestroytheMeek for beta reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"The noble Mortimer, leading the men of Herefordshire to fight against the irregular and wild Glendower, was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken" - William Shakespeare, <em>Henry IV, Part I</em> </p><p>Ronan Lynch was edgeplaying with sleep in the middle of his English class. If he had a dream here in an Aglionby academic building, Ronan might, at best, cause a weird disturbance that would get back to his brother Declan and from Declan to their father. At worst, it could -- well, Ronan hadn’t figured out how to imagine the worst consequences that his dreams might bring on. It was better not to dwell on consequences at all, so Ronan usually didn’t.</p><p>But Mr. Dixon was droning on about virtue and kingship, loyalty to the self versus the integrity of the commonwealth, and Ronan hadn’t slept when he was supposed to sleep, so his head kept tilting back back back -- </p><p>Then someone besides the teacher was talking, for once. “Why would Shakespeare write about Glendower like that? If you know Welsh history at all -- which, pardon me, but I do -- this portrayal of him as a buffoon doesn’t make any sense.” Ronan thought he recognized that voice. Deep honey and bourbon, old Virginia vowels sounding too perfect to be real coming out of someone who couldn't be more than sixteen years old. He lifted his head and forced his eyes open. Yeah, he was right. It was that new kid, Gansby or whatever, who Ronan had been forced to do group work with in Latin class. </p><p>It wasn’t some overly optimistic teacher who had forced him, either; it was the new kid himself. Ancient Mr. Flintlock had said ,"Work with your partner to compose a paragraph," like he always did; Ronan had said “Nope,” like he always did, and put his head on the desk, like he always did. But New Kid kept talking anyway, going through the assignment out loud, and with terrible, terrible syntax. The syntax was so bad at one point that Ronan literally had to cringe and look up at him. </p><p>“Was that wrong?” Bad Syntax Kid asked. Ronan shrugged and buried his head again. So Falsely Naive Question Kid kept going and kept messing up and then, Ronan could have sworn, started messing up things he had gotten right the first time. </p><p>“I can hear what you’re doing,” Ronan muttered. </p><p>“I have no idea what you mean.” </p><p>Ronan grabbed the paper off of Big Innocent Hazel Eyes Ridiculously Good Hair Kid’s desk and slashed at it with a pen until he deemed it adequately corrected.  Then Ronan handed it back. “Here. Read that when it’s our turn, at least you won’t embarrass me too bad.”  Kid Who Just Ingeniously and Annoyingly Got His Critique Partner to Do His Work For Him made it about halfway through the paragraph they’d written “together” before Ronan had to grab it out of his hand and read the last two sentences himself.</p><p>“Now Gansey,”  the Latin teacher had said, when Ronan finished. (Gansey, that was New Kid’s name, Ronan remembered now.) “I don’t know what you’re used to but you’ll need to apply yourself this semester to get your work up to Aglionby standards. And Ronan -- “ Old Flintlock looked at Ronan, whose uncontestable proficiency and unrivaled recalcitrance he’d been wrestling with since the previous school year. “You said words out loud with your mouth. Perhaps you could try more of that as the semester progresses.”   </p><p>Ronan had left the Latin class, feeling unsettled. Flintlock was whatever, but why did Gansey care so much about getting Ronan’s attention? And why the hell did Ronan give it over to him so easily? </p><p>Now, in English, Gansey was once again breaking through Ronan’s determined indifference to everything academic. “There are a lot of sources that say Glendower really was a powerful magician -- I know, I know, that’s not what modern scholars think of as history but clearly Shakespeare wasn’t averse to mixing it up with witches over in the Scottish play, right? So why treat Glendower’s magic like a joke?”</p><p>With a deep internal sigh, Ronan sat straight and opened his eyes for real. Young Sir Class Participation was gonna make Ronan say words out loud with  his mouth in an academic setting twice in the first week of the term. Of course Ronan hadn’t done the reading. But last year, Dad had gone on a theater kick, and he’d taken the boys to see both parts of Henry IV so that they could learn what he deemed to be important lessons about family legacy, responsibility, and how the British monarchy had always been a bunch of fecking wankers. Bearing all that in mind, Ronan dived into the fray.  “Comedy,” he said, “It’s a joke because of comedy.”</p><p>Ronan could hear the eyeroll in the voice of another classmate. “This is one of Shakespeare’s history plays. Comedies were last semester.”</p><p>It didn’t bother Ronan that people this stupid got into Aglionby; the Lynch brothers’ presence proved that anyone who put enough zeroes on a check could do that. It was that these stupid fuckers all thought they were smart. “Not comedy like everybody gets married at the end,” Ronan was forced to explain. “Comedy like ha-ha. That scene is funny because Glendower’s a windbag and Hotspur takes the piss out of him. Glendower says he can call on demons, and Hotspur says, so can anyone, but that doesn’t mean they’ll come. It’s a great joke.  A lot of Shakespeare’s so called humor makes no sense to modern people because words don’t mean the same thing they used to, but this bit absolutely kills on stage.”</p><p>“I know,” Gansey sounded testy, but he looked interested. “I saw it in D.C. at the Folger last spring.”</p><p>“Me too!” Ronan heard his voice getting excessively loud and he wondered how he had moved so quickly from the verge of dangerous dreaming to aggressively agreeing about Shakespeare productions with a boy who, observed straight on for the first time, turned out to have a laughably symmetrical face. Nobody was really supposed to be that handsome close up, especially not some random kid who was painfully bad at Latin and weirdly obsessed with Welsh kings.  </p><p>“Feel free to expand on your point, Mr. Lynch,” prompted Dixon.  The young teacher was about to pee his pants that students were actually discussing shit in his class.</p><p>Ronan didn’t want the poor bastard to get any false expectations of anybody caring what an Aglionby instructor had to say, so he made sure to answer directly to Gansey. (That was definitely why. Nothing about the deep focus of those eyes).  “The point of the scene isn’t whether Glendower’s a good magician or not. Maybe he rules. Just because dude knows a lot of stuff doesn’t mean that sitting up all night while he recites a thousand names of the devil is gonna help when you’re trying to win a war.  It doesn’t matter how magical Glendower was, anyway, because he doesn’t show up for the final battle.”</p><p>At this point Ronan could have sworn Gansey looked personally offended. “The role of the Welsh in the Percy rebellion was way more complicated than you can figure out from a fictional play!”</p><p>“If we could,” Dixon suggested without much hope, “let’s keep the focus on the content of the text. Gansey, if you want to do some digging on what Shakespeare did and didn’t choose to take from the available sources on Welsh history, you could have a fruitful term paper.  I think you said you can read Welsh, right?”  </p><p>Gansey nodded. Of course he fucking did.</p><p>Dixon went on.  “Mr. Lynch, if you want to write about the humor in the play or make the case for why we should be Team Hotspur --”</p><p>This was probably supposed to be a way of Communicating with the Youth in their Own Idiom but Ronan didn’t bite. “I’m not team anybody. The whole point of the story is that all of these teams suck. Everybody’s running around having pointless fights about who’s in charge, when the only shit that matters is going on with Falstaff back at the tavern. But Prince Hal’s never gonna get it because he’s too caught up in trying to force his daddy to love him.”</p><p> As he spoke, Ronan heard himself repeating the argument Dad had egged him into having with Declan on the long drive home from D.C.  Predictably, they'd each had ideas about what exactly the prince's character flaws were, and those flaws just happened to line up with the ones they attributed to the opposite brother. Dad had chosen to find this hilarious. </p><p>Now, Ronan was starting to realize that what he was saying risked getting too personal. He slid back slowly into the sense that people in the room were looking at him, and listening to him, which was apparently what happened when you talked in complete sentences in a classroom. (Ronan wasn’t sure about this. When talking happened in class, his eyes were usually closed.) Now he dropped his head back again. “Or, you know, whatever. I don’t think I had enough coffee this morning.”</p><p>If anybody thought about trying to get Ronan Lynch to have more to say, they were wise enough to keep it to themselves. </p><p>*</p><p>When Ronan got up to leave, Gansey was standing over his desk. “I never thought about it the way you said,” he admitted. “I mean about why the comedy was funny. I knew the audience laughed in that scene, but I just thought Shakespeare was making a cheap joke at the expense of the Welsh.”</p><p>Ronan shouldered his backpack but kept his eyes on Gansey. “I participated in class twice this week because of you. You’re gonna ruin my reputation.”</p><p>Gansey just smiled. “That’s what I do.” Gansey couldn’t have intended for that to mean what it sounded like it meant; if he was flirting with anything, it was the possibility of audience for whatever the hell he was talking about. As the son of one Gaelic storyteller, Ronan could recognize the tricks of another.</p><p>In order to keep up with Gansey, Ronan had to wind his way between desks, and maybe he wasn’t entirely looking where he was going because he jostled another student.</p><p>“Hey, watch it!” came the snappish reply, and there was such an unexpected local Valley twang to the words that Ronan took a closer look at the boy who’d said them. Another new kid, this one tall and skinny and as silent throughout classes as Gansey had been talkative. But when Dixon had called on him to read a passage he definitely hadn’t sounded like that. The hidden accent was the first interesting thing about him, but his eyes’ wary assessment of whatever threat level Ronan might pose followed quickly as the second.</p><p>“Parrish, right?” said Gansey. He was holding out a spiral notebook. His smile couldn’t have been friendlier. “I think you dropped this when Ronan Lynch the Stumblebum here tripped over you. Sorry.” Gansey acted like somehow he was the one who’d gotten in Parrish’s personal space, but his eyes flitted to Ronan, like he might be the judge in a test of what Ronan decided to do next.  </p><p>Ronan wasn’t much of an apologizer, but he really hadn’t meant to walk right into a guy who was just minding his own business -- Adam Parrish, Ronan now remembered. Ronan was about to open his mouth when he noticed the third interesting thing about Adam. If he’d looked put off by Ronan’s arrogant carelessness, he looked positively terrified of Gansey’s politeness. Grabbing the folder from Gansey’s hand, he practically darted out of the doorway before Ronan had a chance to say anything.</p><p>Gansey looked at Ronan and shrugged. “Weird.” Like he didn’t have any idea that the possibility of being mocked with kindness could hurt more than the everyday assumption of indifference or cruelty. </p><p>Or maybe Gansey knew that perfectly well. Ronan had no idea about anybody else’s life. That reminded him to ask. “What’s got you so obsessed about this Glendower?” </p><p>“It’s a long story.” There was that 'I ruin reputations' smile again.  “Do you want to get lunch?” </p><p>“Hell yes, I’m starving.” Ronan let Gansey follow him toward the mess hall. As they walked, Ronan asked, “Gansey. Is that a first name or last?”</p><p>There was a much longer pause than the question warranted. Ronan hadn’t been surprised that Gansey knew his full name; Gansey seemed attentive to that sort of thing. That Ronan was supposed to already know Gansey’s name hadn’t occurred to him, but clearly he was. Maybe this Gansey had more in common with Shakespeare’s arrogant wizard king than he might want to admit. Don’t you spirits of the vasty deep know who I am? </p><p>Gansey was a last name, then, and one with some grace or some stigma attached to it. The Ganseys patronized the arts or ran a foundation that brought clean water to Africa, or else they made bombs that fell on distant villages and oil rigs that exploded and ruined precious ecosystems. Or a little from column A, a little from column B. Ronan would look it up soon, probably, but he didn’t give anything away now. </p><p>“Last,” Gansey said finally, “But everyone calls me that.” His mouth twitched as if he was hesitant to continue but then he did. “Any rumors to the effect that my first name is ‘Dick’ are basest slander. That’s just my father and my grandfather.”</p><p>Ronan laughed appreciatively. “That’s an amazing name. If I was raised as a ‘Dick,’ I wouldn’t let anybody call me anything else.”</p><p>“Let me guess, sometimes people call you that anyway.”</p><p>“Ronan ‘Dick’ Lynch.”  He tried it out on his tongue, then shook his head. “Probably too Anglo- Saxon for my very Irish father, and if he needs to swear at me he knows much better words.”</p><p>“Your dad sounds like something else.” Gansey spoke with careful neutrality that said this could go either way.</p><p>“My old man's all right.” Ronan let the words fall lightly but he also meant them. Niall Lynch was what he was, but he’d never put his name on a bomb.  Ronan looked at Gansey, feeling ready. “Tell me about your king.”</p><p>“Well,” said Gansey, “It all started when I died.”</p><p>"Go on. You're obviously not dead now, so. . .</p><p>"I think I owe Glendower my life."</p><p>"Magic?" Ronan asked, matter-of-factly, because, well -- magic was a matter of fact to him.</p><p>Gansey nodded, and his face spread into a delighted smile. </p><p>"Cool," Ronan said. "Tell me about it."</p><p>And that, for Ronan and Gansey, was the beginning of everything.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The passage being discussed in class is from Henry IV, Part I, Act 3. Glendower and Hotspur's exchange takes up the first part of scene 1. Ronan references these lines specifically:</p><p>  <em>Glendower: I can call spirits from the vasty deep.</em><br/><em>Hotspur: Why so can I or so can any man; but will they come when you call for them?</em></p><p>I tried to find a good version of this scene on YouTube, with no luck, but suffice it to say Gansey may know his Welsh kings, but Ronan's got a better grasp of dramatic stakes and comic timing.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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